Tap on the shoulder, she is in the line, has been selected, everyone knows what that means, this life is over, the others look on her with pitiful eyes, hoping not to draw attention to themselves. Head down she joins the others selected, their figures,waif thin, not from dieting or the model runway, this is the real stuff, no food, starved, over worked, and then finished off like a wounded animal,when no longer useful. Is this a description of euthanasia you wonder, the fate of caste women and children, it could be the last war, it could be the martyrs, whatever, how would you feel, tap on the shoulder, amen.
Humans do horrible things, it’s been going on a long time. So the angels come every generation, hoping to fill us with new ideas and hope, raising the awareness of the Holy Books, while some get visions, warnings. Another fruit cake, you throw the paper down, where is the coffee, you hold out your cup, your on the stock pages, you never think of what the end will be, it might usurp your confidence,reign in the ego and stuff, you know what I mean.
Here is another load, the welcoming committee, death is never the end, something that is undeniable, why though, do we ignore it though. Hand back the Mercedes, the house, the pension fund, the paintings, you can’t lug it into Heaven if your called. well…
What will you do, amen